Asher grows quiet again as we eat.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, picking at my food. Asher’s aloof demeanor is making me nervous.
He smiles his false smile again. “I’m wishing you weren’t seeing this house for the first time under these circumstances. I wanted to bring you out here for a little vacation later this summer. I’m disappointed that the first time I brought you here was because we were running for our safety.”
I run a comforting hand over his. “I’m sorry. But either way, I’m thrilled to be here. I can’t believe this is your house. It’s insane that someone owns a home like this. It’s like a fancy hotel.”
“My father wasn’t interested in it, with the other house he lives in, so my grandfather had it pass straight to me. I have been on the deed as the owner since I was ten years old.”
Neither of us mention the reason for the young age of ownership, and a heavy silence settles over us.
I take a sip of coffee and set down my mug. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make it better. But I know Asher is reeling, I can see it in the line of his jaw, in the hardness of his eyes.
The circle of events is too much.
Asher was supposed to be headed to this very house the night he and his grandfather were taken hostage—and now we’re here because of a car chase involving the same people who not only murdered his grandfather, but who tried to use a car crash to murder him as a child.
Asher’s phonedingswith a text, and his face stills as he reads it. His eyes close for a brief second, and the line of his mouth pulls into a resolute grimace.
“Is everything okay?”
“It will be. Are you finished?” He nods at my plate.
“Yes, my stomach is too upset to eat much.”
“Come. Flores and Jenkins are here.”
He grabs my hand and leads me to the grand foyer where Flores and Jenkins stand beneath a massive, glittering chandelier that looks old-fashioned and modern at the same time.
“Good to see you up and about, Ms. Hale,” Jenkins says, patting my shoulder.
“Thanks. How are you two holding up?”
“We’re all good. No need to worry about us.”
“Of course I worry about you.”
“What he’s trying to say, is that other than a little soreness from the accident, we’re fine,” Flores says in a snarky tone I’ve never heard from her. I like it.
“And how is Wilkins doing?” I know his gunshot wound wasn’t fatal, but it still freaks me out.
“He’s stitched up and home resting. We’re all thankful the bullet didn’t hit anything and just passed through the muscle.”
They’re so nonchalant about a bullet wound, but I guess that sort of comes with the territory, even if it’s crazy to me.
Asher clears his throat.
“We’ll just be outside, then,” Flores says to Asher.
“What comes next?” I ask as soon as they leave. “Are we staying here for a while, or are we going back to the penthouse?”
“Neither.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“To get you to safety.”
I still. “That’s the second time you’ve said it that way. Getmeto safety. What about you?”
